Seashell
by Amandalie
Summary: Feelings are stirred, and thoughts are confused when the Horse Lord meets the princess.
1. prologue

Hi guys,

Well this is the first time I'm really trying my hand at writing, so bear with me. I started reading lotr fanfic and got really into it as I found some great authors on this site. However, Éomer and Lothíriel are what caught my attention, so here I am. I would very much appreciate reviews so that I can improve, and what you guys really think.

Amanda

P.S. I know this is short but it is the prologue.

-Prologue- 

Sounds of joyous celebration filled the air. A sea of people, music, food, and a steady flow of ale all mingled together. The city of Minas Tirith was blooming with life. The Prince of Ithilien and the White Lady of Rohan were to wed, thus, reforging the alliance between the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan. Rebuilding had begun after the War of the Ring, and a royal alliance would serve both lands well.

Scattered around the center, neat groups of tents were pitched as soldiers adorned in respective uniforms to their lands strolled in and out. Éomer (actually it's King Éomer now, he thought) had just finished talking with his men and had made sure they were settled in. He felt miserable and happy; it was all bittersweet. He was happy for his sister; she needed a man. And he liked Faramir. The Prince was truly worthy of his sister; Éomer didn't doubt that. But she would leave, and it wouldn't be the same without Éowyn. Who would talk to him? Make him laugh? Who would be there for him? Being a King was lonely, and even his close friends had started acting slightly different around him.

Éomer slowly made his way to the royal stables. He would go see Firefoot; if a horse didn't cheer up a man what else could? He was pleased to be welcomed by the familiar smell of horse.

"I refuse to wed him. I don't know him. I haven't even met him, Mellonwen."

The voice was laced with anger. It is still a lovely, melodious voice, Éomer thought.

"Calm yourself, it's merely a proposition; nothing is confirmed yet."

"Oh, but you know my brothers, they are in love with the man, and father too."

" He took thirty orc heads in a minute and all while sitting on his stallion; he is a legend sister," the other mimicked in a man's voice.

"That is disappointing; I though it was at least a hundred," Mellonwen said in an amused tone.

Thirty orc heads in a minute, Éomer thought he would be pleased to make this warrior's acquaintance. Maybe he would be present at Éowyn's wedding. He was surprised he hadn't heard of him, with all the orc beheading while sitting on horseback. Quite like himself actually, Éomer thought with a smug grin, but thirty orc heads were impressive, silly of the girl not to want to marry him. But after all Gondorians were strange. The girl…

He caught a flash of black hair tied with a silver ribbon as she and her companion left the stables. He would probably meet her at the wedding too, when he met the warrior of course. Éomer was looking forward to the wedding now. It was not that he hadn't before but the stuffy Gondorian propriety, polite conversation, and all the young girls with their matchmaking mothers made the Black Gate seem less horrendous.

Éomer heard an impatient nicker then, and he went to greet Firefoot. His horse wasn't overjoyed to be kept waiting, and an annoyed look was plastered on Firefoot's face. A good, hard ride was what they both needed so Éomer saddled his stallion, and rode out into the sunshine.


	2. chapter 1

Sorry for the long wait, but it's my last year in school, and there is a lot to do. I realize it's not a good time to start a fic. However, I'm not abandoning it. Thanks for the reviews. -Amanda

Also, I changed Lothíriel's friend's name from Thalia to Mellonwen.

**Chapter 1**

Just a few drives of his sword into the old man's chest, and Éomer could be happy.

Éomer had been looking forward to his morning ride away from all the activity in the city, and he had had an exhilarating ride, only to be spoiled by the arrival of a missive from Meduseld.

"…_only for the good and future of the Riddermark and its people, Sire, that I ask you. An alliance with Gondor will greatly aid our people, and the marriage would give you a wife. You can kill two birds with one stone, Sire…"_

Two birds with one stone, how like Ealdred; even leagues away from Meduseld and his head advisor still managed to nag him about taking a wife.

The nagging had started as soon as he arrived in the Riddermark after Théoden's death.

The Riddermark had been utterly ravaged by the war. Refugees were pouring in with no food since the crops had been destroyed and the animals stolen by Sauron and his miscreants. But Éomer knew they would survive; his was a hardy people. He had tried his best; he started building homes for the displaced, restoring the fields and farms, and securing the borders from the dark creatures that still roamed the lands. He had been dragged to an uncountable number of meetings while worrying over his people and his sister (how was he to know her thoughts were only for the ranger-prince of Ithilien?). Then food and supplies had arrived from Gondor from his brother-in-arms, Aragorn. His people had been thankful; he could see it in their eyes- gone was the panicked look that had been there before. Now, it was replaced with hope, and pure joy at seeing the barrels of food. They had dashed to the carts as though Béma himself had arrived with a herd of Mearas.

One would assume that with so much on one's plate the council would take a step back but no… his old advisors had brought up the idea of him taking a wife at every available chance. And now it seemed Ealdred wanted him to find a wife in Gondor.

Éomer gave a weary sigh; even Firefoot looked somewhat down, Éomer's foul mood having affected him somewhat. It was time to end his ride anyway, he needed to prepare Éowyn's wedding. He knew she would have his hide if he was late.

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Éomer made his way to the Royal courtyard only stopping briefly to ask a guard for directions. He still wasn't familiar with all the confusing twists and turns of sophisticated Gondorian architecture.

He heard the clashing of sticks as he neared the courtyard, and then a yell…Elfhelm's yell. He picked up his pace curious to know what was going on.

"And how is your footwork, Prince? To the right and cross with the left, to the right and cross, step backward and lunge."

It seemed Elfhelm had engaged Faramir in a friendly bout of fencing. Éomer watched as Faramir quickly parried, claimed the right of way, and started reposting, eliciting a grunt from Elfhelm. The two went on lunging and parrying.

Éomer's gaze traveled the rest of the courtyard. Aragorn, along with the Dol Amrothian trio, was laughing to something a grinning Éothain was saying while gesturing animatedly with his hands, and a few yards away, Imrahil was bent over some sort of long table with one of Éomer's riders. It was good to see his men interacting so easily with their Gondorian brothers. This wasn't the case mere years ago. He remembered how distrusting Éothain had been when they had first encountered Aragorn and the group in the Riddermark, and Éothain's constant arguments against lending them the horses. Éothain then spotted him causing Éomer to stop his reminiscing and make his way to the group.

Elfhem and Faramir were still fencing and then in a flash Elfhelm was on the ground with Faramir towering over him, his sword pointed at Elfhelm's throat.

"That was an interesting move," said Sigemund, his rider looking up from his game with Imrahil.

Éomer noticed the long narrow table the two were seated at; it was divided into three columns each with 10 squares, and two game pieces were on the board. How like Sigemund.

Sigemund was one of his best warriors, and forever curious and ready to learn more. He had always had impressive strategy in battle planning. In their younger years when they had sparred, Sigemund had indulged in a riddle; as boys when they ran around playing, Sigemund had pondered the patterns of stars in the sky. During their stay in Minas Tirith, he had been a huge help, conversing with the Gondorian nobles, arranging settlements, and in between having some sort of philosophical arguments with Imrahil. The two had got along nicely. Sigemund had also been thrilled with the enormous library in Minas Tirith choosing it even over the taverns and barmaids (Éothain had been thoroughly confused). Now he heard a sigh from him, Imrahil was moving up his game piece four squares higher than Sigemund's.

Faramir and Elfhelm were now walking towards him, and Éomer couldn't help notice that Faramir looked as immaculate as ever only the sheen of sweat on his face showed evidence that the Prince had been doing something besides his royal duties.

"The move of a ranger, and only for a ranger to know," Aragorn replied to Sigemund's comment, winking at Faramir.

"Éomer, how was the morning ride?" Éothain greeted him.

"Riding? It looked like lightning from my room. You were flying by the river laddie," said Gimli who had now joined the group.

"Spying is bad, Gimli," Legolas quipped.

The dwarf merely grunted in response as he was taking in his next victim - Faramir had joined the group now. Gimli was staring at the sweaty Faramir who was still breathing heavily.

"You shouldn't be wasting your strength Prince, you should save it for your wedding night. We don't want you falling asleep on your bride," said Gimli.

Éomer didn't think so but the others seemed to find Gimli's words amusing as they were laughing.

"A ranger never uses all his strength in one fight," was Faramir's reply.

"Melindil's _The Power of a Ranger,_" said Sigemund as he moved his piece to join Imrahil's.

"He has been living at your library," replied Éothain to Aragorn's questioning glance.

"Well, it's time I started getting ready, I don't want to keep Éowyn waiting," said Faramir ending the conversation.

"That's more like it Prince," said Gimli patting Faramir on the arm while Legolas rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'll join you, Faramir; I do not want to keep my sister waiting either as it is not safe for my health to do so," said Éomer.

The rest of the group soon followed, and each made his way to his room.

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It was pure bliss; she could feel all her tense muscles relax as she closed her eyes, and breathed in the scent of the rosewater. She just sank deeper letting the warm comforting water envelop her whole body. If only she could stay here forever …mmm

But it was Éowyn's wedding, and Lothíriel was definitely looking forward to it, especially after all the preparation they had done. She was definitely not going to miss it. She had tried on too many dresses, and attended too many fittings to miss the wedding. And she was really happy for Éowyn and Faramir, they complimented each other so very well. Her cousin deserved happiness after all he had gone through, and Éowyn made him happy. Lothíriel had been a bit unsure at first when she had heard about Faramir's attraction to the Shield Maiden but after watching them together her doubts had been erased. And then she and Éowyn had got on so well that Lothíriel considered Éowyn one of her very best friends now.

It was just that she was a bit tired. They had started getting ready early in the morning after she and Mellonwen had finished their early morning ride. Lothíriel had found Éowyn waiting at her door impatient to get started. Since Éowyn didn't have many clothes, accessories or anything else really, Lothíriel's room had become the main location. Somehow everyone had ended up in her room. And so the preparation had begun. Éowyn had been scrubbed, soaped, rubbed, and soaked, then her hair waved, curled, twisted, and scented, it just went on and on…. Faramir probably hadn't had to go through this; it was always just the women.

Queen Arwen had dropped in to offer any help amidst the bustle of maids, hairdressers, and seamstresses running around And after all that fuss she was definitely not going to miss the wedding. So here she was, away from all the bustle, she had asked the maid to draw her a bath in Éowyn's room, not wanting to get in anyone's way.

And then there was that thing too, that sort of made her want to go the wedding. It had been nagging her the entire time as she wasn't able to get it out of her mind. She wanted to see, no, no, no, she was merely curious. After all, she was a curious person by nature. And who wasn't curious about the new young, handsome (or so she was told) King of Rohan?

It had started as soon as her brothers and father had returned to Dol Amroth after the war. Their favorite tale was how the Rohirrim had arrived at the Battle of Pelennor Fields, and that had led to tales of the King of Rohan. Then her obtuse brother had suggested that he would make her a good husband. It was all downhill from there. Her father had agreed with her brothers, and once arriving in Minas Tirith Faramir and Éowyn had heartily agreed too (Éowyn had actually clapped while jumping up and down much like a child). Lothíriel sighed…just five more minutes.

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Éomer tugged at the high collar of the dark green tunic that Elfhelm had obtained for the ceremony. It was the traditional royal green with the gold starburst and the horse, and a lot of gold everywhere. Éowyn had been delighted with it, and as long as it made his sister happy he would wear it. He wanted Éowyn to have her perfect wedding. She deserved no less.

Éomer could see the guests already gathering as he passed by a window. He spotted Éothain with a dark haired Gondorian woman on his arm… the girl. He remembered the girl he had seen at the stables, he would meet her at he wedding, and her warrior that she didn't want to marry. Éomer was very curious to know the warrior. He wouldn't have to wait long, he rounded the corner, and opened the door to Éowyn's room.

His mouth dropped open. Éomer stared. A few silent seconds passed before he regained his senses. Éomer immediately averted his eyes, and started to apologize as he reached for the doorknob, "I'll just, …uh… sorry,...I didn't meant to", and he slammed the door on a pair of very wide, stunned eyes.

Much thanks to the Lady Scribe of Avendell.

The game Imrahil and Sigemund are playing is an ancient Egyptian game like shoots and ladders called senet. I thought it would be appropriate as Gondorian culture is said to have Egyptian influences.


End file.
